


Constellation

by ShunRenDan



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied Relationships, Morning Sex, Morning Wood, Oral Sex, RokuNami - Freeform, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 09:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18232820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShunRenDan/pseuds/ShunRenDan
Summary: Twilight Town’s perpetual summer had given way to a dulcet winter, and the early chill of the morning was too much for her to bear alone.





	Constellation

**Author's Note:**

> Written in an hour of downtime.

Naminé’s lips hummed against the column of Roxas’s throat in the early morning, when the sun rays were new and peeking through the blinds of their shared apartment. Twilight Town’s perpetual summer had given way to a dulcet winter, and the early chill of the morning was too much for her to bear alone. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck, her blonde hair just as atangle as they were, and felt the way his arms feebly wrapped themselves around her.

She exhaled and pressed her lips to his skin, whispering his name in an attempt to wake him. For her efforts, she received a low breath and what might’ve been a drowsy prayer. Blue eyes roamed the expanse of his chest, aglow in the dim light of the morning, and rose to find his face.

He looked so peaceful in his sleep, untouched by the tragedies of their past, not yet haunted by whatever troubles lurked ahead in their day-to-day. He had not yet gotten ready for work, and he was not in the midst of a stressful kitchen. He was not yet ready to rant, there were no jokes loaded to help ease his stress, and he did not necessarily need her affections to ground him.

Her lithe fingers rose to his face, curled against his cheek, and sank back down to his left pectoral. They roamed on tenterhooks to the curvature of his bicep, walked a trail down the ends of his arm as she followed them into the vast cosmos beyond their bed to take his hand in hers.

He wasn’t awake, but she needed him.

Naminé’s cheeks went red at the thought, and she inhaled, held her breath in her heart, and wondered whether or not he would mind. Roxas was not usually one to shy away — from her in particular — but she hadn’t dared to invade his privacy before. Not without his permission, not unless specifically allowed to.

She whispered his name into his chest, lips dragging down the flat of his stomach. She whispered it again when her head rested on his belly, when her hands wandered lower than they should have to find the hem of his boxers.

There, her digits danced against the bones in his hips and outlined them in full while he slept. Roxas really was the spitting image of Sora: a heavy sleeper, impossible to wake without the crashing sound of an alarm blaring in his ears.

At least, most people would have thought so.

There were other ways to wake him.

To check.

Roxas was the dead south tangled up in his own bedsheets, but he came to life at her touch more often than he realized. Her hair was a mess, and she supposed that he would not like the scent of morning breath, but she was warm and he was too, and she felt the sudden, inexplicable need to explore that concept.

Her index finger wove patterns around his belly button and her free hand stretched through the gap in his boxers, smooth fingers weaving through the fabric to find the treasure that waited for her there. In the early hours, Roxas was stiff and at attention, even if he didn’t know it. Her hand roamed its length for a moment, cautiously treading up and down the length of his shaft, eyes flickering back and forth between it and his still-sleeping face.

She outlined the borders of his masculinity, tracing out the head, sketching the glans, studying all the while the way his body reacted for him. Absently, the thought struck her that he might have been dreaming of her already when his head turned further into his pillow, and his face screwed up in some mixture of frustration and confusion. Her heart froze in her chest at the thought that he might actually wake up, that her curiosity might lead to something else, and she debated stopping.

Roxas didn’t need to know that she wanted him to wake up that way — to see her between his legs, cock in her mouth, control granted entirely unto her.

She was usually so dignified that she wondered what he might think.

It was no mystery that he thought about it. They were together, even if they did not have a name for what they were, and they shared a bed more often than they didn’t. Their bond was not invisible, and neither was the way his eyes traveled her up and down like a road long wound.

Naminé was not deaf to the memory of him calling her name in the middle of nights long gone, and she was not immune to the idea of reciprocity. She knew he was a being of need and folly, like she was.

And so she withdrew him from the fabric of his boxers, noted the warmth of him, and granted him a long, slow, stroke of her hand.

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t wake, and so she continued.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Until the moment his head turned again, when she stopped, waited for his reaction, and then pressed her lips to the very base of his shaft. That earned a deeper breath, and he stirred then, his eyes cracking open to stare at the ceiling overhead. She watched him study the spackles for a moment before sensation returned to him, leading his eyes to find her in the space between his legs.

His gaze wandered across the strap of her white dress, noted the way it bunched up at her hips, accentuated the natural curvature of her rear. It lingered there for a long moment before sinking to her face, where it seemed he finally came awake at the sight of her lips buried against him.

“Naminé—”

She silenced him without a word, her tongue chasing the entirety of his core. His head went backward against the pillow and she couldn’t help but smile. Roxas was always so expressive in the early mornings, and to see him caught off guard was an interesting sight. Scientific, she plumbed the depths of his reaction by offering him another, slow lick, curling her tongue against his head to punctuate the feeling she knew must have wracked him.

“Good morning,” she whispered, breath heavy. “Roxas.”

Naminé’s hand stroked him again, and her free hand reached for the flat of his stomach. Fingers ran like water over the faint outline of muscle there, and danced across the constellation of battle scars carved into the skin.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Y-yeah,” he breathed, clearly paying more attention to her than her words.

“Mm,” she replied.

Her lips came together, full and plump and pink and pursed when he looked back down at her to see why she paused. She couldn’t help the curiosity that came next, her stomach knotted at the thought.

“Did you dream of me?”

“I—”

She closed her eyes and took him in whole, without hurry. Roxas froze and all breath fled his lungs at the sensation her mouth brought him. Caught between prayer and condemnation, he swore, hand gripping hers tight. Once she was comfortable, her lips ran up and down the length of his shaft, skimming him like a net might the surface of the sea.

It was light contact, just enough to remind him of the warmth she held, the many blessings she had yet to bestow upon him that morning.

He smelled of salt and the sea, of bitter coffee and a sweet current of vanilla. With their blankets long discarded and the cool air surrounding them, she couldn’t help but note that, even if she should have been thinking of something else — of the manhood in her mouth, of the man writhing beneath her administrative touch. Maybe she should have been thinking of what he might want to do next.

For the time being, though, it was what she wanted that mattered most. Roxas’s fingers found her hair as her pace increased, quickened by the sound of his breath and the way he breathed her name to life.

Every repetition affirmed her decision.

His hips thrust upward without warning and his entire body flinched, the tension in him too much to bear. Naminé braced his manhood beneath her lips with her hand and removed her mouth at the last second, allowing him to explode all over her fingers. Thick, white jets burst from the end of his twitching manhood and trickled down its length, leaving spots on the bed, on her shoulder, and lines that trailed down her knuckles.

“Mm,” she hummed, looking up at him as he braced an arm over his face.

He looked more tired than he was when they began.

“Roxas,” she whispered his name again, tongue running along the white lines that draped over her knuckles. He looked down just in time to see, and it was clear that he was ready to melt with her. “Don’t sleep.”

“Be up,” she continued, releasing him as he stiffened again, crawling up his body. Fingers walked a trail over his chest. “Be awake. With me.”

“Yeah,” he managed. “Okay, if you’re— if you’re sure.”

Naminé came to a rest with her hips just above his, her rear placed against the stiffness of his member. She rolled them backwards, just to tease him, and then leaned down to give him a kiss. Her thumb smoothed over the round of his cheek and his fingers dug into her hips. She thanked him for the contact by rolling them backward yet again, and she smiled when he broke their pact by pulling his lips sharply to the side.

It was cute to see him so disheveled, and the redness in his cheeks was endearing in its own way. Roxas was usually so confident and cocksure of everything, unfaltering, that it left her with an inexplicable pride to know how she reduced him. With his hardness braced against the cloth of her white panties, she leaned down and took his mouth with hers.

They were stuck together for one minute, maybe two, perhaps even ten, lips together, pulse linked.

When Naminé finally pulled away, she lifted her hips, pulled the cloth of her panties to the side, and watched as Roxas froze.

“Are you…?”

“Please,” she affirmed.

And then she lowered herself onto him.

Inch by inch, he filled her, and the shiver that rolled up her spine reduced her to the same bundle of feeling that she knew him to be. Roxas gasped and she followed suit, hands now resting on his chest and her entire body tense. A hand sank below the cotton that covered her and the other rose to cup her mouth and muffle the moans that bled for freedom between her lips.

She rose, and sank, and rose, and sank, every flick of her hips sending an itch throughout her body. It started small, a fledgeling want.

By the time she lost count of her thrusts and his, that want had become a desire.

Naminé rasped his name and leaned forward. Roxas held her up by leaving his hands on her hips, fingers buried in the damnable strip of cloth that separated each thigh from her rear. Each one dug into her skin, defiant, the hunger in him now fully stoked by the need in her.

It felt like he was breaking through the facade of dull feeling that she lived with in the day, rendering her bare and new in the process of taking her while she took him. Her breaths grew shorter as he finally accompanied the pizzicato rhythm of her finger with his own.

The rough of his thumb over her jewel brought her closer to the edge. Her face was slick with sweat, hair matted to her forehead, leaving Roxas to watch as an angel fell over-top him, her every breath spent on his name and his every breath spent on hers.

Together, they climbed breathless into the skies until all else broke.

Naminé felt it first, the stirring in her gut and the way it wound like wire through the rest of her nerves. There was fire, a moment of perfect rhythm, and then ice as her toes curled and her fingers knotted themselves into Roxas’s hair. She silenced her gasp with his mouth, and as her lower body tightened, the tension reaching its peak — she felt him twitch.

And then he ripped away from her, face flush as he finished, emptying all he had into their moment of feeling. She felt him tense, she felt him relax, and as hearing returned to her she listened to the sound of his harried breathing.

She kissed him on the cheek.

“Naminé,” he managed, clearly at a loss. “You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” she explained. “To show you how I feel.”

“I already know how you feel.”

“And now you’ve felt how I feel,” Naminé concluded.

When she realized he couldn’t formulate a counter argument, she lifted herself off of him, rolling onto the bed beside him. He fumbled with his legs, trying to find a new comfortable position despite the now apparent wet-spot on the sheets.

“You’re going to need to shower,” she told him, throwing her legs over the side.

Feet hit the carpet and she stood.

“Yeah, but I… damn it,” he mumbled. “We only have one towel.”

Naminé took a daring step toward the door, her face red only in hindsight. He hadn’t indicated any distaste for what she had done, and she could tell that he’d liked it, so — so maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Reaching for the door handle, she turned to him, a playful smile across her lips.

“Is that so bad, Roxas?”


End file.
